


you need have no fear of failure

by Anonymous



Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: Gen, Mystery, casefic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-20
Updated: 2014-12-20
Packaged: 2018-03-02 10:27:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,713
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2809073
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>With Miss Fisher away on a cruise, it falls to Dot and Jane to investigate the disappearance of a missing housemaid.</p>
            </blockquote>





	you need have no fear of failure

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Tam_Cranver](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tam_Cranver/gifts).



Dot headed downstairs and into the kitchen. Jane was there already, a book in hand and toast on a plate in front of her. Her attention, however, was on neither. As Dot entered she made a shushing motion. Dot quickly picked up on the ruckus occurring outside. 

"As I said, sir, Miss Fisher is-"

"If you’d just calm down, Joe-"

"-said she’d help me!"

Dot whispered to Jane, "What’s going on?"

Jane shook her head. "Some man just showed up at the door insisting on seeing Miss Fisher, but he won’t say why. He’s a friend of Bert’s, I think?"  
Dot stood, thoughts of breakfast gone.  
In the entryway stood Mr Butler, arguing with a dark haired man who was, indeed, insisting on entrance, Bert at his side. "I know she’s here, mate, she wouldn’t just let you wander the grounds when she’s not at home-" this seemed directed at Bert, who appeared a bit miffed. Before he could object, Dot coughed politely. "What seems to be the trouble?"

The three men quieted and turned to look at her. "This," said Mr. Butler, "is a Mr. Joe McPherson. Mr. McPherson, this is Dorothy Williams, Miss Fisher’s companion. He is here to see Miss Fisher, but as I have told him-"

"-she’s not at home to visitors, right, visitors like me, you mean-"

"Miss Fisher is away," said Dot, hoping to interrupt another round of arguing. "Perhaps I can assist you?"

McPherson snorted. "Not unless you’re a detective, too." He sighed, and seemed about ready to leave, when a voice from behind Dot said.

"But she is one!" Dot turned around to see that Jane had emerged from the kitchen, book and toast entirely abandoned in favor of the excitement. Dot frowned, but Jane was undeterred. "She helps Miss Fisher with all of her cases. Dot could help you!"

Dot was about to protest this point when McPherson tilted his head and said dubiously, "You don’t look like much of a detective."

Well. "I’m not sure what you think a detective looks like, Mr. McPherson, but I am Miss Fisher’s assistant. Why don’t you come inside and tell us your story, and I can decide if it’s the sort of case we take." And with that and a slight feeling of panic, she turned back into the house.

 

Having settled into the sitting room, McPherson seemed to become almost meek. He sat in his chair as though he didn’t quite feel he belonged on it, and fiddled with the brim of his hat. He glanced occasionally at Bert, who had accompanied him in, but did not actually ask for him to leave, and Dot was glad of it. Jane had been relegated back to the kitchen, but Dot suspected she was paying less attention to her toast and more to the keyhole. Dot readied a small notebook.

After a bit of hesitation, he began. "It’s my Louisa," he said. "My fiance- she’s gone missing. She just up and left her job with no notice, not to them or to me, and no one knows where she’s gone."

Bert swore under his breath. "I knew those people were no good. I had to drive them home from a funeral once- complained the whole drive about everything from the man himself to the quality of the obituaries."

McPherson nodded. "They were- well. Louisa always said they were difficult to work for, but we agreed she’d stay with them until I had enough to support her so we could get married. Even if she’d got fed up and quit, she would have told me. But she’s just- gone."

"And you suspect foul play?" Jane asked from the doorway of the kitchen. 

"Jane!" Dot said sharply.

"I- what? No, of course not," Joe said, looking a bit confused at the idea. "At least- no, I’m sure she’s- she took all her belongings, I’m sure she’s all right." With that Joe seemed to consider the idea dismissed.

"Perhaps it would help if you told us what happened before she disappeared?" Dot asked.

"That’s just it," Joe said. "There wasn’t anything- not that I’m aware of. One week I saw her on Friday, same as always, and then yesterday I go to see her and I get told she’s been gone for three days to who knows where."

Dot made a note of this, and asked "And what did they police say?"

McPherson made a dismissive noise. "They didn’t bother calling. Said they were going to get a new maid anyway, so it was best she’d left under her own steam."

"Just interchangeable cogs to them, that’s what we are," Bert said, "All part of the machine of capitalism and worker exploitation." 

"Er, right," said Joe. "Sure." 

"But surely you contacted the police? If you’re concerned, I can give you the names of some very honest policemen who would be certain to take your concerns-"

"No! Look, I didn’t come here just so you could fob me off onto someone else!" 

Bert frowned. "Steady, mate, there’s no need to shout."

Joe ran a hand through his hair. "It's just… they won't do anything until someone's been missing three days, but I just know she's in trouble. Bert here talked up your Miss Fisher, and how she’s an all right sort, and sympathetic..." He turned his hat around and around in his hands. 

"Well," Dot said, "I suppose I can make some… preliminary enquiries into the matter."

Bert offered to give Joe a ride home, and Mr Butler went to show them out. Jane, abandoning any pretense of not having listened to the whole thing, came into the room and beamed at her. "Your first solo case! Miss Phryne will be so proud." And with that, she ran upstairs to get ready for school. 

Dot leaned back in her chair and stared at the ceiling. "What have I gotten myself into?"

"It would appear," Mr Butler said, "that you have gotten yourself a case."

"Do you think I did the right thing, by taking it?"

"I think Miss Fisher would approve," he said. "And I have complete faith in you."

* * *

Despite Jane’s protestations, Dot suspected that bringing a fourteen year old along to interrogate witnesses might not project the professional air she was hoping for, and Dot did not wait for her to get home from school for Bert to drive her to the Brookshaw residence. Mrs. Brookshaw herself opened the door and ushered Dot in before Dot could explain her purpose. Upon hearing it, she frowned. "I thought you’d come for the position," she said, pursing her lips. "I don’t understand why you need to know about Louisa."

Dot had intended, initially, to come in and simply state her purpose outright. Now, faced with the unimpressed woman in front of her, it seemed ridiculous to introduce herself as a detective. She didn't feel like one. "I- I'm a friend of Louisa's. I was worried, when I'd heard she'd gone so suddenly."

Mrs. Brookshaw looked her over, and Dot had the feeling that the woman had seen straight through her. "Well, I don’t know where she went, so I can’t help you, but if you’re looking for a job…" she gestured to the room. "I could certainly use one." Privately, Dot thought that she needed more than one- the house was large and opulent, but there was a feeling of shabbiness to it, a sense of long neglect that couldn’t be fixed with a single dusting. The furniture was worn at the edges. Directly above Mrs Brookshaw’s head was a painting of a placid English countryside that was askew, and Dot itched to straighten it. 

"I don’t need a job," Dot said, "thank you, all the same. I just wondered- if I could ask you some questions- I mean, maybe then I would know where she went."

Mrs. Brookshaw sighed. "If you insist," she said, and sat down on one of the armchairs. Stuffing poked out of the cushion. She did not offer Dot a seat. "You said you're a friend of Louisa's?" she said, dubious. "Wouldn't have expected her to have many."

"Oh, yes. She's a dear friend," Dot said, and immediately regretted it. "I mean to say, she was a dear friend. We were at school together- I hadn't heard from her in ages- but when I heard she'd gone missing I was very- worried." 

Mrs. Brookshaw looked at her. "Right. Well, it's news to me that she had any friends other than that boyfriend of hers. You know Joe, I imagine?" There seemed to be a certain amount of meaning put into this last question. 

"We've, ah, we've met," said Dot.

Mrs. Brookshaw continued. "He was quite put out when she left." She shrugged. "I was, too, come to think of it. Disappear in the middle of the night without so much as a by-your-leave- it’s disgraceful. But that man," she shook her head. "All that fuss and shouting, bursting into the house. Kept shouting at me to tell him where she was, as if I'd bother to hide it from him if I did know. He seemed very convinced, though. Quite convinced. In fact, I wouldn't be surprised if he tried to come back. Or send someone to nose around asking questions." At this she went silent, staring at Dot. Dot tried to think of the sort of thing Miss Fisher would ask. 

"Well- was there any particular thing that happened before she left? I mean- anything that might have made her upset?"

Mrs. Brookshaw snorted. "I couldn’t really say. She always seemed odd, to me- a mopey sort. Not very talkative, not that I’d expect her to have much to say. Not much of a maid, either. Really, I suppose it’s a relief that she’s gone; saves me having to sack her. Not to speak ill of a dear friend of yours, of course, but you did ask." 

"Was she with you long?" Dot asked. "I- we fell out of touch, you know, I felt terrible about not keeping up."

"Hardly. About four months. She was Henry's uncle’s maid until she died, and we took her on after- sort of a charity thing, honor the old man’s memory- he was very fond of her. Maybe a bit too fond, if anyone were to ask me, but no one did." She shrugged, and fiddled with her necklace. She gave the sudden impression that she wished she were smoking a cigarette. "At least, I can’t imagine why else he kept her on- as I said, she wasn’t a very good maid. Things always misplaced, never dusted the top of things... I imagine it was the same when you were at school together, of course. Although poor Donalad was an invalid, so he rarely got around the house to see what a shambles it was. Left us an awful mess to clean up, though- I’m afraid it’s still sitting mostly untouched. All those books and papers in no order whatsoever. Haven’t had time to deal with it, what with cleaning up after my own maid."

"But- didn't it worry you? Leaving so quickly- do you think something might have happened to her?"

"Why should I? She had some fight with her boyfriend and left without caring what sort of effect it would have on the household. It seems clear enough."

"But how did you know she had a fight with her boyfriend?"

"Well, the note made that pretty clear." Dot tried to hide the noticeable start, but was apparently unsuccessful. Mrs. Brookshaw grinned, unpleasantly. "Old boy didn’t tell you that part, I see. Yes, she left him a sort of apology letter- though she didn’t bother to post it, just left it on her desk for us to find and pass along. She could have at least dealt with the matter in person, but I suppose it’s fitting she left me one final mess to deal with. She gave Dot an unimpressed look. 

"I don’t suppose you still have the note?" Dot asked.

"Still trying to find her? Well, that’s admirable, I suppose. Very professional. Are you certain you aren’t looking for a job as maid? You seem like you’d do well at it. No? Well. I didn’t exactly save it and frame it somewhere, but it may well be somewhere in her room. Joe threw it away, but as I haven’t yet engaged a new maid, no one’s taken the bin out yet. At least, I haven’t, and if my husband has I’d probably die of shock." She laughed bitterly, gestured up the stairs. "You can take a look, if you like. I’ve barely been in there since you left, so you’ve got access to the ‘scene of the crime,’ as it were. Take a look, and you can tell Joe we're not secretly hiding her body under the bed up there." She grinned at her own cleverness, and made no movement to show Dot the way, so Dot took her leave and made her own way up the stairs.

 

Louisa Addison’s room was small and poorly kept. It was immediately obvious that Mrs. Brookshaw was right that no one had touched it since Louisa had left. It generally looked as though the occupant had left in a hurry and might be back at any moment- except for two things: the closet was open and entirely empty, and the top of the small desk was clear. 

The reason for the empty desk quickly became apparent as she saw that the contents had been shoved haphazardly off, landing in a mess on the left of the desk. There was a blotting pad and several sheets of paper with large, dark ink stains. The reason for the stains became apparent as Dot uncovered a broken ink bottle beneath the papers, and she was glad she’d had the foresight to wear an older pair of gloves. The ink had been left to dry, and Dot thought with a pang that it would be impossible to get out of the floor. It didn’t appear, however, that there had been any letter amongst the papers at all. Next, she looked through the waste paper basket. There were several shopping lists in scratchy handwriting, but nothing that looked remotely like a letter. Dot glanced hopelessly over the mess of the room- how much of it was the natural disorder of the occupant, and how much had been disturbed? Had Joe taken the letter with him after all? She surveyed the jumble of papers to the side of the desk. If Joe- or someone- had swept the contents… she looked further in the direction the papers had scattered. She followed her line of sight to the small bed. There, by the foot, camouflaged by the rumpled sheets, was a crumpled piece of paper. She carefully straightened it, and read:  
Joe,  
I’ve changed my mind.  
I’m sorry  
-Louisa

Dot carefully folded up the letter and put it in her pocket. She began to look around the rest of the room. The small closet was entirely empty of clothes, but the chest of drawers had not been emptied at all. For a half-second, Dot contemplated just closing the drawers, but- if she was going to take over the detective work (temporarily, of course) in Miss Fisher's absence... well, it was incumbent upon her to to the job right, wasn't it? She looked through the drawers, feeling as though at any minute Louis herself might appear and demand to know what Dot thought she was doing going through her underthings. The clothes were better kept than the house- well-worn, but neatly repaired, though somewhat wrinkled on account of being poorly folded. The name "Louisa Addison" was sewn into each. The top two drawers held nothing of interest, and Dot was beginning to feel a bit foolish when she hit the final bottom drawer. Beneath a layer of clothes was a small diary, which she pocketed. As she began to replace the clothes in as much of an approximation of their original mess as she could stand, she noticed that one slip had been labeled not "Louisa Addison", but "Gladys Birch". After a moment's thought, she decided that taking it would be a step too far, and instead wrote down "Gladys Birch?" in her small notebook. 

Half from a sense of investigative thoroughness and half from a desire for some small bit of order, she straightened the sheets on the bed. Out of them fell a pair of earrings that looked suspiciously similar to a necklace that Mrs. Brookshaw had worn. After some consideration, Dot tucked them back under the sheet. If it really was a crime scene, it would be better to leave things as they were, and if it wasn’t- well, Mrs. Brookshaw would find them when she cleaned. 

 

With that completed, she headed down stairs, and was startled by an unfamiliar voice.  
"What- what are you doing?" cried a man's voice. Dot froze. 

"It's all right, dear," said Mrs. Brookshaw's voice from the sitting room, unconcerned. "I told her she could go up; she's an old friend of Louisa's, she says. I told her she could take a look at her things, in case she left something."

"Things? Things? What things? She took her things." The man- Dot could see him now- was thin and nervous looking. She continued down the stairs slowly, as though the man was a timid animal that might spook. He looked up at Dot. "What things?"

"Oh, just- things," Dot said, heart racing "I was- just leaving."

* * *

"I don’t get it," Bert said, as he drove her home. "Why would he lie about the letter? He must have known you’d find it, or at least hear about it from the employers."

"I don’t know," Dot said. "What kind of a man is Joe McPherson? He’s your friend, isn’t he?" 

"Well," Bert said. "I guess so. At least, he’s a fellow socialist, though sometimes I think he’s not as committed as some. He’s got a bit of a temper, but I don’t think he’d hurt anyone. Certainly not Louisa, if that’s what you’re thinking." 

"I don’t know what I think," Dot said, "only that I’m certain that there’s something else he isn’t telling us."

"It doesn’t look good, that’s for sure." Bert shook his head. "D’you know I almost offered him a share in the taxi? You know. When Cec and I had a bit of a row." 

"Oh?"

"Yeah- he’d been asking about it for awhile, but I wasn’t sure- he was always the sort that went for the get-rich-quick scheme. Can’t say as I blame him, but… I knew he’d go for it, but I wasn’t sure if he’d stick with it, you know?" He glanced at Dot briefly. "But don’t tell Cec. He thinks Joe turned me down, on account of the taxi being bad business. He’d never let me hear the end of it if he knew it was a bluff the whole time."

* * *

Back at home, Dot set the letter in front of her on the kitchen table. Across from her, Jane peered at it, as though looking at it upside down might reveal some secret code. 

"Maybe," Jane said, "there was a second page that changed the meaning, but it got lost?"

"Maybe," Dot said dubiously. "There doesn't really seem to be enough to go on to a second page, though."

"Then… maybe it's the opposite? Maybe someone cut out the middle that had more of an explanation?" Jane didn't seem entirely convinced of this herself. 

"I don't think so," Dot said. "I think it's just what it looks like." She frowned at the twinge of disappointment she felt. She should be glad that it had wrapped up easily, without any risk of life or limb, or need to interrupt Miss Fisher's recovery. And yet, it irked her. Dot liked to see things through, and the whole thing seemed very unfinished. 

"But you're not going to give up the case, are you?"

"I don't see what else we can do. It seems pretty clear she doesn't want to be found- if she wanted Joe to know where she was going, she would have left it in the note. I'm certainly not going to tell him."

"But- but what if she's really in danger? What if something did happen to her? And," Jane said, warming to the idea, "if we do find her, it isn't as though we have to tell Joe, do we? We can just find her, and if she wants to pass along a message we can, and if she doesn't, we just say we didn't have any luck and refund his fee!"

"I completely forgot about the fee," Dot said. "I don't even know what Miss Fisher charges for a thing like this."

"Then an even better reason not to tell him!" 

Dot considered this for a moment. "I did think it was suspicious," Dot said slowly, "that the letter was quite so short. I mean… 'I've changed my mind. Of course it sounds like she's changed her mind about marrying him, but it's awfully vague."

"And it was never posted!" said Jane. "That's suspicious. Maybe she was interrupted. Maybe she did mean to leave him, but it doesn't mean nothing happened."

Dot nodded. "All right then." She turned her attention to the little diary, hoping it would point her in a more fruitful direction- but in fact, it quickly became clear that it wasn't a diary at all, nor did it belong to Louisa. It was an address book belonging to a Claude Wyton. At the name, Jane became extremely interested. 

"You must have heard of him, Dot! He went to the Amazon, after Colonel Fawcett disappeared." Colonel Percy Fawcett was an English explorer who had gone missing in 1924. He had gone to the Amazon in search of a lost city fabled to be paved with gold. The world had been riveted to his dispatches, until one day, they simply stopped. Many had gone in search for him, but no one had had any luck. Neither, it appeared, had Claude Wyton. "Out of the five men who went, only two of them came back," said Jane. "The other one was Donald Brookshaw."

* * *

"This seems a bit far-fetched, you coming along" said Bert to Jane, as he drove them to the university where Wyton worked. "It seems to me like you just want to meet a famous explorer."  
"Well, it was my idea," said Jane. "It's only fair." But she didn't contest the charge. "

* * *

Claude Wyton seemed to expect that the two of them had come to hear about his adventures.

"In fact," said Dot, "we've come to ask about this." She put the small address-book on the table. 

Wyton showed the first unrehearsed emotion the entire time they'd been there. "But- that's my address book! I thought I'd lost it- how do you have it?"

"It was found among the possessions of a Miss Louisa Addison," Dot said.

"Louisa?" his face paled. 

"So you knew her?"

He laughed, in a pale imitation of his earlier charming manner. "Well, I would hardly say knew her! She was Donald's maid, you know, I saw her when I visited. And she came to visit me, after he died- express her condolences, you know. Come to think of it, I think she was- sort of playing with the address book when she was here- nervous habit, you know the sort of thing. She must have slipped it in her pocket when she left, just by accident, and forgotten to return it to me." He leaned back, apparently satisfied with this. 

"Is that _really_ the only reason she came to see you?" Jane asked, leaning in. Wyton looked a little startled. "What on Earth could you mean? Did she- has she said something to you?"

"Maybe her reasons were more... personal? Some secret she was hiding? An affair with Donald Brooks, perhaps?" Jane fixed Wyton with a look.

"Jane," Dot began sternly, but Wyton burst out laughing- a little more heartily than the situation called for, Dot thought, noting the disappointed look on Jane's face. 

"Donald and Louisa! Good lord, child, you do have ideas. Or is that what she's saying now, that the old boy meant to leave her something because of a secret passion? Well, I'm not sure what she thinks it'll get her, but she'd know better than to come to _me_ about it." He laughed again. "No, he liked her well enough, I suppose- she would remind him he needed to eat and bathe on occasions and she wouldn't bother him otherwise, and that's what he was looking for, I think. Certainly it wasn't tidiness. And- if we are being quite frank, she was a bit- light fingered. I dare say it's possible she took the book on purpose. She was like that, you know- I don't know if she even gave that much thought to what things were worth. She just liked having them, I expect. Some people are like that. Still, her and Donald! What an idea." He shook his head. "Well, I'm not about to press charges, if that's what this is about." 

"It isn't. Mr. Wyton," Dot said, in her most serious voice, "Miss Addison has gone missing, and we are trying to discover where she might have gone."

Wyton frowned. "Missing? Oh dear. I hope- well, here I've gone and said these things about her- She was all right, you know- I mean, she had her faults, of course, but in the end- well. I understand she had a boyfriend- do you think he did it?"

"Why would you say that?"

"Oh," Wyton waved a nervous hand. "That's just how it always is, isn't it? It's always the boyfriend in these sorts of cases, or so I hear."

"'Did it'," said Jane. "You think she was murdered?"

Wyton started. "Well, don't you?"

"We're not sure just yet," said Dot. "Most of the people we've spoken to assumed she'd just run off."

"Oh," Wyton said, "yes. Of course. I suppose- I suppose that's possible. Yes."

"But you don't think it's likely," Dot pressed. 

Wyton sat for a moment, quiet. "No," he said at last. "No, I think- wherever she is, she's gotten into some trouble. I think- I think perhaps she may have misstepped with someone more- someone who might have... taken certain things very seriously." He stood and smiled weakly. "Well. As much as I would love to continue speaking with you lovely ladies, I do have a meeting. Collecting funds, you know, I spend more time begging for money than I do in the jungle, I imagine!" And with that he ushered Dot and Jane out the door.

* * *

Once again, Dot found herself feeling rather stuck. "What would Miss Fisher do if she were here?" Dot murmured. 

"Seduce Claude Wyton for information?" suggested Jane. Dot gave her a look. "I'm not saying to actually- do anything! Just, you know, smile at him a little?"

"I'm not going to lead a man on for the sake of an investigation," Dot said firmly. "And neither would Miss Fisher, come to that." Though she was slightly less firm on this, at least in her mind. 

Then Jane said, "Mrs. Brookshaw said that her uncle's house was empty, didn't she?" 

"Jane," Dot said sternly, "I am not breaking into a dead man's house." 

"Of course not, silly," Jane said. "You don't know how to pick locks. Anyway," she added, "you can't deny that that is _definitely_ what Miss Fisher would do."

* * *

"This is a terrible idea," Dot said, looking from the porch of the abandoned mansion furtively.

"It's a perfectly good idea, and stop looking around like a nervous cat. You've got to act like you belong; then people expect that you do," Jane said. She was working quietly with a set of picks- Miss Fisher's, Dot suspected- looking cool as a cucumber. 

"I can't look like I belong here- I can't pretend to be visiting. The man's dead, why would anyone be standing around his front door?" 

"Don't worry so much- got it!" Jane said, as the lock clicked and the door swung open.

Inside the house was full of dust, and a musty smell filled the air. Dot handed a pair of gloves to Jane, who slipped them on. "What now?" whispered Jane. 

"We stay together," Dot said. She looked around. "I imagine the servant's quarters were upstairs. Quietly, they went up the dusty set of stairs. Dot headed towards the room that seemed most likely to have been Louisa's, but Jane's eyes went straight to the room with shelves upon shelves of books. "Jane," Dot warned, but there was nothing for it. 

"They're his journals," Jane said. "The ones he said they lost." She pulled down a volume at random and began to skim it. She made a face. "This is just a list of what bugs bit them on what day," she said. She flipped to the end of the book. "But it doesn't go all the way to the end. There was a month left when he finished writing this- there should be another volume, but there isn't."

"There is," said a voice from the doorway. Dot looked up with a sinking suspicion. It was a woman she did not recognize. She was holding a gun. 

"Louisa Addison?" she asked. "We've been looking for you." As slowly as she could, she stepped in front of Jane. "Joe's been worried."

Louisa snorted. "Of course he has. He's been worried about his money, is what he's worried about. Only there isn't any."

"Miss Addison, please put down the gun." Miss Addison did not put down the gun. In fact, she waved it in a bit of an alarming fashion. Dot began to suspect she was drunk. "We don't mean you any harm."

"Nobody ever means any harm," she said morosely. "I didn't mean any harm, when I found it. I just meant- well. It hardly matters now." 

Dot glanced at Jane, who was sitting stock-still, the journal still in her hand. How, she thought, could she get Jane to safety? How could she have let Jane get involved in this to begin with. 

"I read the last one, you know," Louisa said. This was aimed at Jane. "Dull stuff, mostly. He kept them locked up in here, but it was easy enough to find the key. And I wondered, of course. Everyone did. Because they never talked about it, you see. Him and Wyton. And what harm could it do, I thought, to look? Just to look. To see what they'd really found." 

Dot's eyes were on the gun that was now drooping towards the ground. If she could only get closer without Louisa noticing-

"You want to read it, of course. Like everyone does." She made a sudden movement, and flung something in Jane's direction. In panic, Dot launched herself at Louisa, throwing her against the wall and grabbing at the hand holding the gun, hoping desperately that she could manage to pin it with the gun pointing away from them.

"It's all right!" Jane cried. "Dot, I'm all right! It was just a journal!" Dot, however, was not all right, as Louisa, though she was not struggling, still held the gun in a loose enough grip to point it at Jane, which at that moment, she did. 

"Do you want to know the secret? Here it is then, for all the good it'll do you- all the good it did me. I thought-" she shook her head, trying to clear it. "The last man who died, before they finally turned back- he killed him. Brookshaw killed him, because he wouldn't go back. All he wanted was to go home, before the starvation and the jungle killed them all. And it got him anyway. No lost city," said Louisa. "No gold. Just death. And I didn't learn. Joe thought it was a good idea, you know. When I found it, when I told him. He was a good man, or he was to me. A soft touch, we thought. I didn't tell Joe- he thought I never did it, but I did. I told the old man I'd tell everyone and he just- he just looked so sad. Didn't say anything. Just looked sad. And in the morning he was dead, and I knew, I knew- everyone thought it was the mosquitos got him at last, but it was me. I killed him, I know it. But at least it was over! Until Joe had the bright idea to go after Wyton as well, and I couldn't. I just couldn't. He didn't even now that Wyton had done it until I gave him the journal, but- I couldn't tell Joe. So I ran. But I had nowhere to go, except here."

Dot finally pulled the pistol from her grip, and Louisa sank to the floor, sobbing.

* * *

"Well," said Miss Fisher, "it seems your weekend was more exciting than mine." Her companion on the cruise had, it seemed, turned out to be rather dull.  
"I'm terribly sorry," Dot said, "about getting Jane into danger."  
Jane made a noise of protest, and Miss Fisher hummed. "I'm afraid our Jane is a bit like I am- trouble just seems to find us, whether we seek it out or not." She looked at Jane fondly. "Speaking of seeking out trouble, I hear Wyton's started off on his next journey into the Amazon?" Dot nodded. "He said deep down he thought he knew about Brookshaw, you know. He wanted the deaths to mean something, not just endless failure." Miss Fisher looked thoughtful. "Do you know, I met his wife, once- Fawcett, I mean. A wonderful woman. Very clever. She wanted to accompany him on his journeys, you know, but there were the children to think of. He had always stressed that no one was to come after him if he disappeared. But I think people forget- in his last letter, you know, he seemed so confident. 'No fear of failure', he said, and then he disappeared. One only hopes that Mr. Wyton will have better luck finding what he's looking for."

**Author's Note:**

> Percy Fawcett was an actual historical figure, and a fascinating person. There were many explorers who went after him, despite his express wishes, though Brookshaw and Wyton are entirely made up. To this day it's not entirely certain what happened to him, although there is some evidence that his lost city of "Z", while not paved in gold, might have existed in some form.


End file.
